


Black Jewels/Inception Crossover

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Black Jewels/Inception Crossover [1]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There’s enough dark power rolling out from the door to the library to warn Arthur both of who’s inside and of the occupant’s current mood.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Jewels/Inception Crossover

There’s enough dark power rolling out from the door to the library to warn Arthur both of who’s inside and of the occupant’s current mood. It’s enough to give even him pause, but not for long. He tugs down on the sleeves of his suit jacket and prepares for battle.

“Arthur,” Ariadne warns behind him, but he’s been with her for long enough now to know that’s the tone of a concerned friend, rather than an order from his Queen. He ignores her, continuing down the hall and, after a brief moment of hesitation outside the library door, he lets himself in.

The first three days of a witch’s moontime are when she’s most vulnerable, unable to do even basic spells without doing damage to herself. Understandably, it’s something Warlord Princes react to – violently – when there’s a chance their Queens may be in danger. Eames is Ariadne’s First Escort, a position which necessitates a closer tie even than the rest of the court. He’s currently a breath away from the killing edge, lacking nothing but the slightest provocation from another male to set him off.

The fact that Arthur is also a Warlord Prince won’t help anything, either.

He feels Eames focus on him, feels that tension rise one degree higher as Eames forcibly reins in his temper. Arthur is grateful for it. He may be a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince, but Eames wears the Gray. If it comes to a clash of power, there’s no question of who would win. And in Eames’ current mood, it’s questionable whether Arthur would even survive that clash.

“It’s almost time,” Arthur says mildly, careful not to move closer or let anything into his tone besides steady calm. His own temper is riding the edge, but he’s always had better control over it than most. Particularly when there’s work to be done.

“She’s vulnerable,” Eames snarls. “And they all know it.”

The timing for this audience is inconvenient, to say the least. Not only is Ariadne at the mercy of her own body, she’s bound by the agreement that this audience will be a private one, Queen to Queen.

Arthur had known Mal when she was alive. She had been a lovely woman and a good Queen, ruling fairly and beloved by her people until her death, when she'd been caught in a tangled dream-web and hadn't survived. But something had gone wrong then, between the time of her body’s demise and her reawakening after making the transition to demon-dead. She had come out of that experience subtly altered, in ways that Arthur didn’t fully understand, but which made him nervous for all of that. Other Queens had gone missing after she’d seen them, other courts subtly disrupted and rearranged. Tainted.

And she’d requested an audience with Ariadne.

Mal had been a Black Widow in life, and in death she still wears the Sapphire Jewels, dark and powerful. Ariadne wears the Gray, one of only a handful of Queens to currently do so, but they won’t be able to help her right now.

In addition, while Ariadne is walking into this meeting alone, Mal is accompanied by her Consort, Dom Cobb. There’s something guilty in his eyes, something wary and anguished since his wife’s physical death that makes Arthur think he knows something about what happened when Mal made the transition to demon-dead. Whatever had changed in her, he’s aware of it.

Having another Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince waiting in the audience room, particularly one who serves another Queen, isn’t doing anything to calm Arthur’s – or Eames’ – unease.

“Ariadne agreed,” Arthur reminds Eames now, as Eames paces another worn spot into the library carpet.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” Eames says, turning on his heel and pinning Arthur with a stare that dares him to say otherwise.

“Would you defy an order from your Queen?” Arthur asks quietly. He sees – and feels – Eames recognize him as a threat, pulling all of that Gray power in closer, ready to strike. But Arthur hasn’t survived this long without being willing to stand against a threat.

“And you never would,” Eames counters, which both of them know perfectly well is a lie.

Still. “I serve,” Arthur says, and feels Eames explode.

He snaps a shield up as soon as Eames strikes, but Gray power blasts through the Red as if it’s nothing. Arthur flinches, fully prepared to be burnt to ashes, but the unleashed power evaporates, apparently satisfied with completely eliminating his defenses. It doesn’t even ruffle his hair.

Eames appears to have regained some control after lashing out, but he’s still wound tight and dangerous. “And I don’t?” he asks, too soft to be anything but a warning.

“I never said that.” Arthur raises his hands and calls in a small velvet-lined box, cracking open the lid so that Eames can see the heavy, ornate ring inside. “There are some places a Consort can go,” he says quietly, “that even a First Escort cannot.”

The tension coiled in Eames banks abruptly, the heavy, choking weight of his power easing up enough that Arthur can breathe more easily. He looks curious, studying first the ring and then Arthur.

“Is it the Queen who asks?” he inquires, stepping closer to Arthur and his jeweled offering.

Arthur shakes his head. “As the Steward, the ring was given into my keeping after your refusal, in case you should change your mind.”

Eames takes the box then, turning it to give the ring another examination. “She would have given it to you, you know,” he says casually.

Arthur knows. He and Eames both know the reason for his refusal, even beyond his familial feelings for Ariadne. “Pity I was already the Steward,” he replies, and keeps his expression neutral at Eames’ sharp look.

“And what does the Steward think,” Eames asks, holding Arthur’s eyes, “about my accepting it now?”

There’s only one answer to that, and Arthur has already given it. “I serve,” he repeats quietly.

Eames looks at him for a long moment, but Arthur doesn’t allow his expression to change. Eames is the first one to break eye contact and look away.

Eames finally slides the Consort’s ring onto his finger, flexing his hand to test the weight of it. Arthur doesn’t react outwardly, but he feels the hum of response as Ariadne picks up on the connection. Eames looks up from inspecting the symbol of his new status to search Arthur’s face.

“Since my Queen has yet to officially accept, let’s call it a temporary loan,” Eames suggests, although they both know better than that. There’s no way Ariadne would turn down Eames’ Gray-Jeweled strength at her side, not unless her heart lay elsewhere.

“She’s waiting,” Arthur says neutrally. Eames gives him a brief nod of acknowledgement and goes to escort Ariadne into the audience chamber.

Arthur waits outside, forcing himself not to pace as time ticks by with no sign of what’s happening inside the formal room. He’ll find out soon enough. He just has to be patient. He…

An explosion of power rocks the hall at the same time a Gray shield snaps up around the audience chamber. Not Eames, and not Ariadne. Cobb.

Arthur throws himself at the doors, but the shield holds, repelling him easily no matter how hard he swears and batters himself against it. He can feel power raging inside the room, Gray and Sapphire clashing, and reaches out on a psychic spear-thread for Eames’ mind. There’s nothing he can do from out here, not wearing the Red. There is, however, someone else who can use his strength.

*Eames!*

There’s a response, distracted and harried, and Arthur grabs on to it, holds the connection and forces it as wide open as he can make it. *Take it,* he says, offering up his power, pushing everything he has through that link.

He can feel the hesitation, desire and logic warring with doubt. Knowing the reason why, he pushes harder.

* _I serve._ *

There’s one more second of hesitation, and then Eames takes what’s being offered, draining him ruthlessly to help feed his own attack. Arthur staggers at the sudden weakness, catching himself against the wall and barely keeping his weight from crushing him against the Gray shield. The violence in the room escalates, and then he feels the thunderclap of power signaling the end of the confrontation.

His Red Jewels have been drained almost completely, but there are a few drops of power left in each, just enough to keep them from shattering. They’re useless to him right now, so he vanishes them and calls in his Birthright Blood Opal.

Two guards come running down the hall toward him. Even from a distance he can feel something off about them, the same twisted, wrong feeling he gets from Mal. He recognizes them as the escort Mal brought with her in the coach when she’d arrived.

He raises his hand and blasts both of them at once. Even temporarily broken back to his Birthright Jewel, he has enough power to turn them both instantly to dust.

He searches, but he can’t sense anything else with that unique presence, neither inside the audience room nor in the immediate vicinity. Cobb’s Gray shield drops suddenly and he breaks through the doors, instincts screaming for him to protect his Queen.

Ariadne is inside, leaning with one hand against the wall, but she appears unharmed. Eames turns on him as soon as he bursts in, ready to strike and kill a possible threat, but he pulls back when he recognizes Arthur.

Mal and Cobb are gone.

Arthur goes to Ariadne first, slowly enough that he doesn’t set Eames off again. He can feel Eames gradually backing away from the killing edge, still on guard but less likely to explode. *Are you all right?* he asks Ariadne on a psychic spear-thread, needing both her verbal reassurance and confirmation that her mind is intact. When she acknowledges him, he looks around the room.

“What happened?”

“Mal,” Eames says shortly, nudging at the rug with his toe, investigating the battleground. “It would appear she didn’t make the transition to demon-dead in the traditional fashion.”

“You took care of her?” Arthur asks.

He can feel the rumble of frustration even before Eames answers. “I don’t know. She disappeared.”

“Back to the Darkness,” Ariadne says, although Arthur can tell by her tone that it’s more hope than true belief. He wraps an arm around her shoulder to steady and comfort her, and although he can feel her annoyance at being fussed over, she knows he needs the physical contact. Eames is already sliding in to take his place, escorting Ariadne to a chair so that he can check for injuries. Arthur allows it, as Ariadne does, because it’s what Eames needs right now in order to relax. It won’t do anyone any good if Eames is startled by a hapless footman and turns the man to cinders because he’s still wound tight.

“Cobb?” Arthur asks, doing his own cursory examination of the room, prowling around the furniture to see if he can pick up any lingering psychic traces.

“Gone as well,” Ariadne answers, putting her hand on Eames’ shoulder to still his restless energy. “Could he have caught the Winds from here?”

“Not without help,” Arthur answers before Eames can. They don’t, however, know what kind of ‘help’ a twisted demon-dead Queen might be able to provide. Who knows what Mal might be capable of in her present state?

Eames looks over when Arthur speaks, his gaze focusing on the Blood Opal Jewel hanging from its chain around Arthur’s neck before flicking up to meet his eyes in silent question. Arthur shakes his head before Eames can ask, sensing the surge of worry. *They’re not shattered, just drained,* he tells Eames privately. *I’ll recover.*

Eames turns back to Ariadne, visibly relieved, in time to find her doing some jewel-inspection of her own. “I don’t recall us talking about this,” she says, lifting his left hand and tilting it so that the heavy ring catches the light. “Didn’t you decline my previous invitation?”

“Apologies, Lady,” Eames answers. “It seemed the most expedient at the time.”

He sounds exhausted to Arthur’s ears, and apparently Ariadne thinks so as well, because she lets him off the hook and sets his hand back down onto the skirt of her long formal dress. “Will you continue wearing it?” she asks, and there’s a hint of steel in her voice that warns this is not a question to be taken lightly.

Eames looks at Arthur. Arthur meets his gaze, but there’s nothing he can say. Ariadne is his Queen.

Eames closes his eyes briefly, tiredly. Finally he says simply, “I serve.”

Ariadne rests her hand on his hair, letting the weight of it settle for a moment before she strokes it back from his face. “In that case,” she says, gently displacing Eames so that she can stand and smooth her skirt, “I shall have to get used to having a closer First Circle than most Queens.”

Her eyes meet Arthur’s, and he feels a fierce burst of loyalty rise in his chest when she smiles secretly at him. She had been willing to accept his excuse of being the Steward as cause for declining the Consort’s ring, but she’d known his real reason. Just as she knows why Eames had given her the same answer.

She sweeps out of the room ahead of them, and Arthur lets her because he’s already checked to make sure there are no more surprises waiting in the hall. When Eames passes on his way to follow her out, Arthur stops him with a question.

“Will you go to her bed?” he asks, and steels himself to meet Eames’ eyes when he turns.

“Will you come to mine?” Eames counters evenly.

 _I serve_ , Arthur thinks, but then he remembers Ariadne’s smile, and the way she’d given the velvet-lined box containing the Consort’s ring into his keeping after Eames’ refusal. _“I think you’d better hold onto this for now,”_ she’d said. _“It seems fitting.”_

Arthur nods, once.

A smile breaks over Eames’ face. He tips Arthur’s chin up a fraction of an inch to lightly brush his lips over Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m holding you to that,” he warns, before stepping away.

Arthur allows himself one final smile. Then he falls into step beside Eames, and they leave the room together to follow their Queen.  



End file.
